Can You Hear That?
by IceWeasels
Summary: Girl falling into Middle Earth, haven't we all heard of that before? This time, there's a twist. R&R please.
1. 00 What's a life between friends?

Prologue – What's a Life between Friends?

It was already dark when she climbed into the room.

Kristin Hartley, ordinary girl next door. Or, actually, that is rather inaccurate. She lived in the light blue house two doors down, and was far from ordinary. But that aspect will be further discussed in more detail in later chapters.

I say 'climbed into the room' because she did precisely that. She had just entered her best friend's room via the second floor window. A skill she had acquired since the age of nine, when she and Jon had first got together at the back of the school bus and made the sacred pact of friendship during primary school.

Jon glanced up at her and grinned. He held a finger to his lips and crossed the room to close and lock the plain white door that led into his room. A norm during her visits.

"Hey, K," he greeted, smiling, and hugged her. "I'm glad you got my message."

"Wouldn't miss it for the world, deah. Though I wish you'd turn eighteen already and share an apartment with me." Kristin disentangled herself from him and lay on his bed, bouncing a little.

Kristin and Jonathan were the typical teenage best friends. They understood each other, and complemented each other perfectly. Or almost perfectly. Most of their classmates held the opinion that they would start going out in a few years, but the fact that Jon was about as straight as a circle…complicated matters.

His voice brought her back to the present. "I finished another sketch." He lifted a sketchbook off his work desk and placed it in front of her, and proceeded to lie down next to her. "After reading the first book again." He flipped idly through the pages until he came to the latest drawing.

"Jon, it's beautiful…" she breathed. And indeed it was. The page was taken up with two Elves, twins, standing by a fountain, heads together, and obviously planning mischief. Without a doubt they were Elladan and Elrohir.

Her fingers skimmed across the drawing lightly, wishing – and not for the first time- that she could just step into Tolkein's creation (Middle-Earth) and see for herself the beauty of the Elves and the rest of the Free Peoples of the land. She wanted to walk in the forests, wander in the cities, bathe in the rivers, and breathe the air of Middle-Earth…although the battles were a little iffy.

Jon seemed to be thinking along the same lines. He sighed wistfully, and said, "I wish I could court one of them."

She grinned and smacked his head lightly. "Control yourself, O' Gay One."

He pouted, and was about to reply when they both jumped at the sound of the front door slam, followed by a shout of "BOY!"

Jon tensed visibly. "Hide," he whispered to her, and she immediately complied, running to the closet and closing it. She heard him unlocking his door and tentatively calling out, "Yes, Dad?"

"WHERE IS HE?"

From inside the stuffy closet, Kristin flinched. She sat down on the carpet, next to a stack of old comics coated in a layer of dust. Please, please don't sneeze…

"Where is who, Dad?" Jon was obviously trying his best to remain calm. Mr. Herrer was a heavy drinker, and took to trying to stomp out Jon's homosexuality, like it was some kind of disease. One that he diagnosed needed constant shouting to cure.

"THERE IS SOMEONE HERE, AND I'M GOING TO FIND OUT WHOM!" The bathroom door was wrenched open and the shower curtains pushed aside noisily. Jon's father gave a curse.

"There's no one here, Dad!" Jon was pleading, and Kristin could only hope that Mr. Herrer wouldn't think of looking in the closet.

"YOU STINKING LITTLE FAGGOT!" There was a sharp slap and a surprised cry. Kristin gasped, and her stomach clenched uncomfortably, although abuse was not uncommon, according to Jonathan.

Suddenly the closet door was thrown open with such force that one of the hinges burst out of its socket. Her hiding place was bathed in the orange glow from the light in Jon's room, and she found herself staring into the very angry eyes of one Evan Herrer, much like a deer caught in the headlights.

Uh-oh.

Strong, unyielding fingers grabbed hold of her shoulder and dragged her out. She was shoved to the rough green carpet brusquely.

"I TOLD YOU TO NEVER LET HER IN THE HOUSE, BOY! AND – what's this!?" His eyes had fallen on the open sketchbook, still on his son's bed. Jon's eyes widened, and he made a desperate grab for it, but his father was faster. Surprising, considering the amount of alcohol in his system.

Kristin closed her eyes. It was only a matter of time until Mr. Herrer found the nude pictures, one of the requirements of the art class Jon attended. He never saw Jon's talent, only freaky pictures that confirmed his son's unprincipled sexuality.

A ripping sound brought her crashing back to Earth. Jon was staring at his father in horror, mouth open unbecomingly, while he watched Mr. Herrer rip all his passion and hard work into shreds that floated slowly to the ground. He didn't bother protesting. One, it was already too late. Two, Mr. Herrer would never listen. Three, he just couldn't. His speech functions had deserted him.

Then, as suddenly as he had arrived, Mr. Herrer turned on his heel and left the room. They heard him thumping down the landing to his own room, then the slamming of a door.

"Kristin, leave, please." Jon helped her to her feet. There was a slight imprint of a hand on his right cheek, but he paid it no heed.

She stood, and rubbed her shoulder, glaring at him. "No. You will leave, with me. My parents will understand, we can get a lawyer – "

"I can't –"

"At least get a job and pay rent – I don't care, Jon! You have to come with me! Away from here."

Jon took a breath, ready to retort, but stopped. "You aren't going to let up, are you?" Her quiet but determined "No" was confirmation. "Fine. I'll go."

He cast one last longing look at the shredded paper on the ground, remnants of his hard effort, then grabbed his schoolbag and started stuffing clothes and various memorabilia inside.

"You go first," Kristin said when they were at the window. "You've had less practice."

Jon tossed his bag onto the ground outside, and had just swung his leg over the edge of the window when the door banged open for the second time that night. Mr. Herrer looked livid. And he had a gun.

"JON, GO!" she screamed pushing him. The first shot went right past her ear, singeing it, and into Jon's arm, and he cried out in pain. Some blood spattered onto her face, but she was past caring. A few more inches to the right…thank the gods for alcohol and its effects on accuracy.

She decided it was suicide to stay in there with a homicidal maniac carrying a big gun, and took a leap of faith. Quite literally.

Time slowed down, and Jon's shout of panic processed slowly through her brain. The plain garden Jon's window overlooked was getting awfully close. She wanted her eyes to close but they stubbornly stayed open.

There was an audible crack, and then…

Darkness.

OoOoOoOoOo

Well. That's that. It doesn't sound like it has much to do with Middle-Earth, but we'll get there. Review sweets!

Disclaimer: I don't own Lord of the Rings.

This chapter was finished on: 16 July 2006, 5.12 p.m.


	2. 01 Unsuitable Conditions for Trekking

Chapter 1 – Unsuitable Conditions for Jungle Trekking.

It was some time before Kristin opened her eyes to find herself in unfamiliar territory. How odd. She blinked, trying to get the eye gunk out of her eyes. She shifted slightly, absentmindedly thinking that her bed was not this uncomfortable – unless the springs had erupted from the mattress again, of course. Kristin looked around for a familiar face.

"Jon?"

No answer. Ah well. She might as well look around for him, or someone else she knew. With any luck her parents had sent the boy to the hospital to remove the bullet in his arm. He had better be alright.

Who else would bitch to her about how the school prom king refused his advances?

She idly wondered what had happened to _her_. Why on Earth had she blacked out? What had been that crack sound?

Kristin rotated her neck, and was relieved to see that she hadn't suffered any neck trauma. So that quite obviously ruled out a broken neck. But she really needed to test out the rest of her limbs. What if she had broken something? She stood.

And immediately went back down again. Her legs were too unsteady for actual use. Pins and needles erupted throughout the entire length of said limbs (a feeling she despised), so instead she looked around and concluded she was nowhere near home, for home hadn't had so much…green.

She was surrounded by trees and there was even a waterfall thundering nearby. Or, more precisely, she presumed it was (Thundering; that is.) Concentrating, she could not discern the sound of the water at all, as it poured down on the rocks below and into the pool. Odd. She started to crawl to the water's edge, puzzling over this new place and its muteness.

She immersed two fingers in the cool water and touched them to her dry lips. It was heaven. The clear blue water looked enticing, and she could see the glittering pebbles at the bottom. It was apparent that the pool was not too deep, and she was about to undress for a swim to soothe her frazzled nerves when she realised – _finally_ realised – that she had no clothes to remove.

'Oh, shite.' She needed clothes, and fast. It would not do to be found wandering around naked by some stranger in an unfamiliar place. So, gathering her wits about her, she stood and crept toward the trees, hoping to find somewhere she could borrow – read, _steal_ – clothes. But not before she had a long drink.

OoOoOoOoOo

You may wonder why she was yet to panic, when she was in an unknown place, with no knowledge of where her friends and family were, or where to get food, or where to spend the night. You see, Kristin is nothing if not a little…slow. It will hit her soon. And when it does…it will not be pretty.

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It had been hours. _Hours_. She now wished she had some more water. And some food. Kristin _had_ passed by a bush full of berries, and a clump of mushrooms, but she was not foolish enough to eat them. What happened if they were some kind of poisonous plant that killed her? At least the absence of clothes meant the absence of an extra burden; there were no bits of clothing getting caught in thorns or branches. But she had amassed many cuts in places you don't even want to _think_ about. And her bare feet…Rest assured she had never missed her shoes so much in her life.

She stopped at a fringe of trees encircling a slight clearing. A horse was tethered nearby, magnificent and tall. Or was it two? Her eyesight was not cooperating with her brain, most likely it was on strike due to the lack of food. Ah well. There was no one about, at any rate. So she risked it and forced her exhausted muscles to work, half-running, half-hobbling, into the 'campsite'.

She had succeeded in pulling on a pair of pants and a tunic (both too big and a different style entirely than her normal clothes) and was about to scrounge around for food, when something sharp was prodded into her back. A strong hand gripped her shoulder. She swallowed and turned around, lest she be impaled. She looked up at her 'captors'. And gasped in recognition.

Elladan and Elrohir.

One of them had an Elvish blade at her throat.

"I'm sorry! I needed clothes! These were the first I could find!" she pleaded. Both the Elves looked confused. Then she remembered. She was speaking in English, not Westron, not Elvish, not even Dwarvish. They could not understand her.

One of them opened his mouth to say something, maybe ask her what she was saying, or what her name was. His lips moved but…Kristin suddenly realised why she didn't hear the water at the waterfall. She couldn't hear. She was…deaf. She hadn't even noticed that the forest was eerily quiet, that the horses made no neigh or snort, that she couldn't even hear herself speaking.

The only thing she could do was point at her ears and shake her head, hoping that they didn't think she meant she had no brain. Dawning broke on their faces simultaneously; which is kind of weird, seeing as they were both identical twins anyway. They started conversing in Elvish – probably over what to do with her.

She could not move out of fear. And there was that issue over the sharp blade pointing in her direction.

Finally, said pointy weapon was sheathed and one of the twins extended a hand. She looked at it distrustfully. How could she trust these men – Elves – even if she _did_ know who they were? There was the issue of the Tolkien books being false (Oh, the blasphemy!) and these two dragging her off to some cliff to toss her over. He seemed to understand her misgivings, and smiled at her coaxingly.

Ignoring all sense, she gave in and he pulled her gently over to a horse. She gulped. It looked…tall. Too tall.

He knelt down and next thing Kristin knew, she was being tossed into the saddle as if she weighed as much as a feather. Which was a downright lie. She refrained from looking at the ground, she was too high up. Instead her gaze focused on the twins beside her. It was best she figure out which twin was who. She pointed at one.

"Elrohir?"

A funny expression passed across the face of the Elf she had pointed at, the one on her right. He shook his head, no, and said slowly, "Elladan," so she could read his lips. She nodded; yes, I understand, and repeated the name to him. Both Elves nodded.

Elladan then mounted her horse – or, his actually – so that he was sitting behind her. Elrohir told him something, she felt Elladan nod, and suddenly the horse took off at frightening speed. She might have screamed, she couldn't remember, nor hear. At any rate, it was disconcerting, knowing that the horse was galloping at breakneck speed and yet not being able to hear its hooves coming to contact with the ground. So she went to sleep, where sound didn't matter.

OoOoOoOoOo

Elladan shifted his grip on the mystery maiden as Aznavour jumped over a streamlet of water gracefully. He frowned and wondered who she was, and why she could not hear neither he nor his brother. And, more importantly, how she knew what their names were. Elladan would have definitely remembered if he had seen her before, but no one came to mind.

And what on Arda was he thinking, taking this girl, when he _knew_ Ada would have fits if he knew his son was aiding a complete stranger who could very well be in league with Evil. Though this would be a new tactic, sending in a maiden who looked no more than a girl, who couldn't speak any language they knew, and had probably given herself away at somehow knowing who the twins were.

He shook his head. It was unlikely this girl was a spy, or that she had evil intentions. The look on her face when she seemed to realise (for the first time?) that she did not have the sense of hearing was a genuine one. The fact that she seemed to have stolen a pair of Elrohir's leggings and his tunic was an odd one, and Elladan briefly wondered why she had donned them.

He and Elrohir had been planning to remain out of Rivendell until the new moon, just for a change of pace. Both of them still had two weeks left until the specified date, and had been planning to hunt for dinner, when they had stumbled upon the unknown maiden in their clothes, and running around their campsite.

Elladan had wanted to take the girl to Rivendell and have their father see what was wrong with her, but Elrohir stated that Lothlorien (and therefore, their grandparents) was closer. And since neither of them knew what illness ailed the girl, it would be a better precaution to assume that the faster they got help, the better.

But even with Aznavour going as fast as he was, and he being one of the swiftest horses in Rivendell, Elladan knew they would not make it until early morning tomorrow, and the sun was still high in the sky.

Briefly, Elladan wished Elrohir was riding with him - if only to have the company of his brother. The silence was unnerving.

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This chapter was finished on: 21 July 2006, 10.47 a.m.


	3. 02 Recyclings and Poison

Chapter 2 – Recyclings and Poison

When Kristin opened her eyes, she noticed that the sky was dark, and that she was now propped up against a tree. Wow. She had been so out of it that she hadn't even felt Elladan (it was Elladan, right? Yeah, it was.) carry her off the horse.

Speaking of Elf lords, where was this one? Probably left to hunt for food, she supposed. But why would he leave her alone, asleep and defenceless? _Although_, she thought wryly, _that horse is probably watching over me_.

Kristin gingerly rose to her feet, pleased to find out that her limbs were not as shaky as before. She pulled up her borrowed pants, not liking the feeling of 'going commando' in the slightest. Then she trotted over to the horse, wary of where she put her bare feet.

The horse, as mentioned before, was tall and magnificent, and watched her imperiously. It had a coat of brown and white socks on all its legs except the left foreleg. Kristin, being a city girl, had no experience with horses, except for television, school and a brief fixation with ponies when she was six. In fact (not that it has anything to do with the story – unless you read for character development, and who does _that_?), Kristin spent the entirety of her six-year-old life pretending to have a white stallion called Binky that turned invisible when other people looked at it. But I digress.

"Hey, girl. How you doing?"

Also as mentioned before, Kristin is a city girl, and therefore can be excused for calling Aznavour a 'she'. That doesn't mean that Aznavour excused her; because, although Kristin was not speaking Elvish, or Horse, Elladan's mount was a smart horse, and caught the gist of what she was saying.

It snorted, and pawed the ground. Kristin immediately jumped back, which seemed to mollify it a little. Just a little.

_Okay_, thought Kristin. _I never knew horses were so temperamental. Seriously_.

She abandoned the demon-horse-thing, and instead walked back to her tree. Very carefully. On the way she snagged a couple of leaves from the bushes lining the clearing. She held them gently with one hand, using the other to pull the pants up again, and sat down cross legged among the ancient roots. Kristin leaned against the tree trunk, and idly twirled the stem between her fingers.

_What on Earth – or Middle-Earth, whatever – am I doing here? And why the Hell am I deaf? _Her throat burned, much like it always did whenever she was about to cry. She pulled her knees to her chest, and stared at her grubby feet, toenails filled with muck and dirt. _Gods, I want to go home. I can't hear a thing. I don't know anyone, oh gods, oh _gods_…_

Absentmindedly she scratched her hands (which were now, for some reason, irritatingly itchy) with the stalk she'd plucked. Kristin swallowed, trying to suppress the need to cry. She hadn't cried in over a year, (and that was only because she'd had a fight with Jon over something that was now stupid), and she wasn't going to start bawling like a baby _now_. She was seventeen years old. She would _not_ cry. She wouldn't.

But her mind didn't stop there.

What was the purpose of bringing her to a different world without the sense of sound? How could she possibly contribute to anything, much less the War of the Ring? Kristin had read all three Lord of the Rings books, and the Hobbit, and a tiny bit of the Silmarillion, and she had watched all the movies, but…there was nothing special about that. Thousands of people did the same, and there were thousands of people who had better knowledge of Middle Earth, its history, its customs and its languages.

And what of her life at home? Would her parents miss her? Did they know their little girl had been transported to a fictional world? She wondered if her little brother and older sister would find it amusing that she was in Middle Earth, and whether they would argue over her things. And what about Jon?

She swallowed, finding the action difficult, as a lump had formed in her throat. Kristin missed Jon terribly, even more than her parents and siblings. What had happened to Jon? Had she left him to face his father alone? Had he, too, found his demise at the hands of a madman he was unfortunate enough to have as his father? Maybe he had been transported to Arda too!

As soon as she thought this, Kristin shook her head vigorously as if to dislodge the notion, disgusted with herself for daring to suggest it. She did not want Jon to have died, even if it meant that she would have a companion. He deserved better than that. Her eyes widened as she digested that fact. She had died. She had _died_.

"No more jumping out of windows, then," she joked to herself, and gave a weak chuckle, laughing even as a tear rolled down her cheek. She would have wiped it away, but –

Gods, what was wrong with her _hands_?

She looked up from her feet to take a look at the offending appendages, and maybe see what the cause of the itchiness was. An insect bite or something. However, it was at that precise moment that the practical part of her brain lost its battle against the emotional part. Kristin's eyes filled with tears, blurring her vision, so much so that she didn't notice Elladan's approach.

He grabbed her wrists, and hauled her to her feet. Kristin gave a gasp of surprise, which started her sobbing properly. The spray of leaves she'd picked fluttered onto the ground from out of her now-open hand, and she let herself be led by Elladan, stumbling slightly because she couldn't really see.

She could still feel, though. Her hands were still itchy, but Elladan still held her wrists tightly, preventing her from scratching. She felt the forest floor from under her feet, felt dry leaves and earth and twigs, and once something squishy that oozed up between her toes. She didn't want to know what _that_ was. And then the ground was oddly damp, and she was forced to her knees. Luckily Elladan had a supporting arm around her back, if not she would have pitched forwards. Her patellae hurt, though.

Suddenly her hands were pushed into what she could only describe as ice. Kristin opened her mouth, but she couldn't tell if she shrieked, or gasped, or sobbed louder. She was still crying, even as Elladan kept her hands in the stream, or river, or whatever.

After what seemed like an age, Elladan lifted her now-frozen hands out of the water. But it was a brief reprieve; after wiping the palms and fingers with a damp cloth, he mercilessly dunked them again. However, thanks to the relativity of the human thermoreceptor system, the water now seemed mostly warm.

When the Elf helped her up and led her back to her tree, she realised that her hands were no longer itching. Be that as it may, she was still crying. Kristin didn't have the strength to push her hair out of her face – but Elladan did that for her. She couldn't take it anymore. She leaned forwards, into his embrace, and drew comfort from the way he didn't push her away. And Kristin cried, cried for her parents, Jon, and the life she once knew.

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Elladan held onto the mystery maiden (or, rather, she held onto him, while he awkwardly placed his arms around her), a little overwhelmed. He'd gone to relieve himself, and had left Aznavour behind to rest a little, and graze, as well as to look over the maiden as she slept. There was no doubt in the Elf's mind that his horse would be able to carry out that little task. He had not expected to see Aznavour grumping at one corner of the clearing, while the silly girl sat awake, looking like she was about to cry, and playing with poison ivy. Poison ivy!

It was a lucky thing there was a little stream nearby enough. After all, he and Elrohir had been camped by the Anduin (nearer the River Ninglor than the River Celebrant) and it had been a simple matter for Elladan to follow the Great River south, where it would eventually lead him to Lórien. So it was not really surprising that there were streamlets peppered along his route.

Perhaps it had been unwise of him to stop at a copse of poison ivy, but, really, Elladan had had his reasons. For one, the girl had been asleep, so he'd set her against the only tree there because as experienced a horse as Aznavour was, he could not keep riders on his back if they tipped sideways. Secondly, Elladan's bladder had been killing him. And thirdly, even if she'd woken up, there was no way that anyone would be stupid enough to wander off (which, granted, she _didn't_ do) or _pluck poison ivy and play with it_.

If the Valar had thought he'd needed assistance in deciding whether the girl was or was not a spy, They had certainly helped. She was _definitely_ no spy. Whether she was an idiot – that was open to debate.

He could feel a part of his tunic becoming wet with her tears, but couldn't find it within himself to be annoyed. He was not that heartless. The poor girl was probably lost, and bad enough she could not hear. Elladan conceded that he may have been a little rough when getting her up and to the river, but he'd wanted to wash her hands as soon as possible. In the process she'd walked through what could only be politely referred to as Aznavour's 'recyclings'.

She'd cried all the while, even when he'd used a damp handkerchief (his mother had always insisted he and Elrohir carry one each) to further wash her hands. These were not silent tears or noisy weeping – she had sobbed heartrendingly, but very softly. Not deliberately, no; Elladan suspected that it was only because she couldn't hear herself cry that her sobs were faint.

Finally, when her shoulders stopped shaking, and her death grip had loosened somewhat, Elladan managed to extricate himself. Pushing her against the large tree (he wasn't really bothered what type of tree it was right this moment), he gave her a reassuring smile, held up both hands in what he hoped was a 'wait here' sign, and then headed over to Aznavour. Inside one of the saddlebags (long journeys called for them) he found some dried fruit. Elladan hated the stuff, but Elrohir couldn't get enough of it. However, Elrohir wasn't there to finish them, so he was perfectly justified in giving it to the mystery maiden.

She ate quickly, but chewed well. If it had not been dry fruit, no doubt the juice would be running down her chin. Elladan couldn't blame her even if it did. She looked like she hadn't eaten in a while. This was not so inconceivable – if she could not afford her own clothes, what more food?

He forced down a pear himself, knowing he'd need the strength for the next stretch, and then guided her to the streamlet. After the both of them had had a drink, he let her wash her feet in the water, and then helped her mount Aznavour. (The thricedamned horse was still inclined to be sulky about something, though, and Elladan had had to sternly tell him to behave.)

And then they were off once again. Hopefully they would be able to reach soon, and without any hiccups. No doubt his grandparents would be curious as to why he was visiting without any prior notice, and why he had an odd maiden as company instead of his twin. But that couldn't be helped. Elladan just hoped that they could aid the mystery maiden. And she _was_ a mystery, make no mistake. Why? Because, as he'd pushed her hair out of her face, he'd felt her ears.

Whoever had heard of a deaf Elf?

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This chapter was finished on: 2 June 2009, 11.24 p.m.

I do not own the universe of Lord of the Rings.

As a side note, _have_ there been deaf Elves? I don't think so, but I could always be wrong. Feedback is much appreciated.


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